


The Once and Future King

by ProdigyBlood



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Cute, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, Housemates, M/M, Merlin has waited a long time, Merlin is Older than Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Pining Merlin (Merlin), Reincarnation, Smitten Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), drunken rants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProdigyBlood/pseuds/ProdigyBlood
Summary: Merlin has waited centuries for Arthur's return so that he can finally have the love story they deserve. The problem is, when he finally finds Arthur, the king has a familiar girlfriend and Merlin's not sure he has the heart to tear them apart. Can he really just be content with being Arthur's friend and housemate? FUTURE FIC
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mithian/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 211





	The Once and Future King

_“Take heart, for when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”_

The old man shuffles along the streets of London. These days, his backaches, his knees hurt and he is exhausted all the time. His hope, once so bright, has long since dwindled, becoming the ghost of a flame which would need a miracle to ignite once more. He is known by Emrys but once, a long time ago, he had gone by another name as well.

Emrys has every reason to be sceptical. He has seen Albion suffer. Has seen it endure wars and plague. Has seen it leave the old ways behind and become something else entirely. Great Britain, they call it now, though he is dubious to how Great it truly is. The old man can’t help but think that if there was ever a need for the once and future king to return, it is now.

But, of course, Arthur is nowhere. Emrys searched far and wide as years turned into centuries and the world around him became unrecognisable.

He is so very old. So very tired. His bones ache and creak. He is tired. Perhaps it is time to give up. Perhaps he just has to accept defeat?

Emrys staggers as a shoulder slams against him. These days everyone is so busy, moving quickly to get where they are going. He is used to being jolted around, used to the person vanishing without a word to see if he is okay or, even worse, having the audacity to tell _him_ to watch where _he_ is going as if _he_ were the problem with this once great land.

These days, perhaps he is a little cranky.

He doesn’t have much faith left.

It is for that reason that it is so surprising when a strong hand steadies him. “I’m sorry,” the young man says. “Are you okay?”

The old man grunts, ready to use the line that is so often thrown at him but the words catch in his throat as his eyes lock with concerned blue. Eyes that are so familiar. Eyes the old many hasn’t been able to forget despite the passing of so many long, _long_ years.

Finally, aware that he is staring, the old man managed something that resembled a nod of his head. “Fine,” he croaks. “Thank you.” His old hand, so weathered and wrinkled, finds its way on top of the young man’s smoother, softer one, still braced against his shoulder.

The skin between the young man’s eyebrows crinkle slightly but he smiles, unbothered by the too-familiar touch from a stranger. “Good,” he says. “Sorry again.” Then he is pulling away, slipping into the crowd that threatens to see him lost forever.

The old man can’t lose him, not again.

He follows.

***

Merlin adjusts the scarf around his neck as he stares at the red door. His hands are clammy and, when he wipes them on his jeans, he relishes in how easy the movement is, how his fingers, no longer knobbly, don’t shake with the effort of such a simple gesture. He had allowed himself to become too fragile, it is going to take some getting used to his youthful body. How he’s missed it, though.

“Just knock,” he says, staring at the door as if he expects it to do it for him. Of course, the door, being just a door, doesn’t oblige. After another moment of hesitation, he finally plucks up the nerve to give it three sharp raps with his knuckles. It doesn’t sting to do so – what a relief. Emry's hands had stung no matter what he did.

From the other side of the door, there is a loud bang, followed by a colourful curse. “Just a minute!”

Merlin can’t help his small laugh. It seems Arthur is still just as useless as ever without him.

When the door finally opens Merlin had to mentally brace himself. He’s seen Arthur only once before, albeit briefly. Brief enough that he had almost managed to doubt his own eyes, old as they were. But it is true. There is no denying it; Arthur Pendragon is alive and well.

Merlin wonders what that means for Albion.

“Hi,” he says breathily, the familiarity like a punch to the gut that winds him. 

There is no recognition in Arthur’s face as he stares, confused, at Merlin. He knows to expect it, but it hurts all the same.

“Hi? Uh, who are you?”

“Oh. Uh, er, well, I’m here about the room,” Merlin says, his words almost tumbling over each other in their rush to get out. “I know I should have phoned first but I saw the AD and I was close by, and I didn’t want to risk somebody beating me to it, so I thought I’d… Y’know. Hello?” Merlin shrugs sheepishly, offering a weak smile and a wave that falls flat. 

Arthur crinkles his eyebrows together as he digests Merlin’s tumble of words. Merlin hopes the door isn’t about to slam shut in his face, although he isn’t sure he’d blame Arthur. Finally – thankfully – he steps aside, allowing space for Merlin to pass him. “Sure, I guess. Come inside then.”

Merlin is struck with a sudden urge to reprimand Arthur. What kind of idiot just lets some bumbling stranger inside of his house these days without a second thought? Merlin could be any sort of creep, here to murder him and wear his skin. He is about to say as much when it strikes him that he doesn’t want Arthur to come to his senses and kick him out. He’s waited so long to be reunited, he doesn’t want to run his mouth and ruin it before he’s even started. 

“What’s your name?”

“Merlin.” Arthur looks at him for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Merlin feels his heart palpitate, could it be possible some part Arthur remembers him? That hope quickly diminishes as Arthur bursts out laughing.

“You’re joking?”

“No,” Merlin says, stubbornly.

“Your name’s Merlin?” The scepticism in his voice is rivalled only by the humour. Merlin is rushed with a feeling of comfort, this is so familiar. This is his king. Nobody else could be such a, _well_ , the word prat comes to mind.

“Yup.”

“Like the wizard?”

“The very same.”

Arthur snorts. “Well, I guess that makes you my servant then,” he decides finally.

“Oh? And how did you figure that one out?” Merlin demands though it is hard to keep the warmth from his tone.

“My name’s Arthur. If memory stands correctly, didn’t the wizard Merlin serve King Arthur?”

“The Great Wizard Merlin served no one,” Merlin argues, though it is a lie and they both know it.

“The Great Wizard, ay?” Arthur quirks an eyebrow and Merlin feels his knees weaken. “Go on, then, show us a magic trick.”

Merlin’s gaze hardens. Oh, how satisfying it would be to shift back into an old man right in front of Arthur and wipe that smug smile off the clotpole’s face. Instead, he half shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe later,” he says. “I forgot my cards.”

Merlin hates and loves the superior look Arthur sends him, like he thinks Merlin is the most pathetic, hopeless case in the world. It is too familiar, even after all this time. “Please tell me you don’t _actually_ do magic tricks?”

“‘Course not,” Merlin says, “that would be stupid.” He shuffles his feet and doesn’t meet Arthur’s eyes; Merlin is ancient. _Of course,_ he’s dabbled in what mortals consider magic tricks. Arthur doesn’t need to know that, though. And he certainly doesn’t need to know that Merlin is a dab hand at it. Doesn’t even need to use real magic to pull it off. He actually enjoys it, too.

“Very. So, you’re here about the room, yeah?” Straight to business, the Arthur Merlin knows so well slipping away before his eyes. Merlin tries not to let it bother him. He knew it wouldn’t be so easy.

“That’s right.” He lets his gaze slide around the room for the first time. It’s a nice room, very Arthur. A sleek leather sofa stands in front of a roaring fireplace, a sword hanging above it. It is only a replica, and a shoddily made one at that. Certainly not the type that would hold up in battle, but times have changed. This Arthur will never need to draw a real sword.

Arthur notices his gaze. “It’s meant to be Excalibur. My girlfriend bought it for me. It looks pretty cool, right?”

“Your girlfriend?” Merlin can’t stop the question that tumbles from his lips though he feels stupid as soon as it’s out. _Of course_ , Arthur has a girlfriend.

“Yeah, Thea. She’s around at the weekends sometimes. Won’t be a problem, will it?”

“‘Course not,” Merlin says. For a horrible moment, he thought Arthur was going to say Gwen. Guilt crushes him as it hits him just how terrible it is that he is relieved. Relieved that Gwen isn’t also here, living a new life with Arthur. Gwen had been his friend, it was a selfish thought to be glad that she was gone. Merlin hasn’t spent thousands of years waiting just to be sidelined again, however. He feels sorry for Thea, whoever she is, but Merlin has had thousands of years to realise what he wants and, damn it, he isn’t going to give Arthur up without a fight.

“So, did you want a tour?” Arthur asks, but then hesitates, looking Merlin up and down. “You _can_ afford the rent, right?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,” Merlin says. Arthur still looks sceptical and Merlin glances down at his outfit, wondering what is wrong with it. He is wearing a plain blue T-shirt underneath a red scarf and a brown jacket. His jeans are a normal denim colour. It is, he admits, very similar to his favoured look back in Camelot, but one can never go wrong with tried and trusted. He has grown a bit of facial hair which may, potentially, be perceived as scruffy he guesses. Merlin thinks it kind of gives him a ruggedly handsome edge. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Huh? Oh no. I guess not. You just look a little…” He trails off and drags his eyes away and again, Merlin wonders whether there is some vague recognition there. It is gone before he can do any more than wonder. “Come on then, I’ll give you the tour.”

It is a nice house but nothing special. It’s somewhat of a relief to know that Arthur had been reincarnated as an ordinary guy and not a prince or lord or anything else that put him right back up at the top of the food chain. Maybe this time things can be different. Maybe it will be easier. Maybe–

“I’m sorry, did you just say you want me to cook for you?” Merlin asks, frowning.

“Well, not _all_ the time. But if you were cooking, there’s no harm in doing it for two, right?”

“I don’t think that’s how housemates usually work.”

“My house, my rules,” Arthur says. “You don’t have to move in, do you?”

Merlin is about to argue, to call the former-king a clotpole and probably end up getting punched in the face for his efforts when Arthur’s words fully sink in. “Wait, does this mean I _can_ move in?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Arthur says, cutting off despite seeming like he wanted to say more.

“But?”

Arthur frowns but doesn’t argue. “But I don’t really want to faff around dealing with a load of idiots. There’s something about you, Merlin. It’s like we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t,” Merlin says, too quickly.

“Well I know _that_ , idiot, but you just… I don’t know. Remind me of someone, I guess? You feel familiar.” Merlin knows there is no point getting his hopes up that Arthur remembers him in any way that matters. Still, it is amazing what the brain can do. This Arthur had never met Merlin before (unless you count the few seconds when he’d bumped into him while Merlin was still Emrys) and yet still he feels the pull of recognition. 

“You like me,” Merlin announces, smiling.

“Hey now, don’t get carried away. You seem like you’ll be a royal pain in my arse. You look like you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“But you still want me to move in.”

Arthur sighs, glaring. “If I’m being honest, I don’t feel threatened by you, alright? I don’t want to be living with someone who might make a move on Thea. And a girl’s out of the picture because then Thea would be jealous.”

“You think she won’t like me?” Merlin argues. “I’ll have you know lots of people fancy me.”

Arthur snorts. If he notices that Merlin didn’t specify women he doesn’t comment on it. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Merlin shifts his weight between legs and stares defiantly at Arthur, almost daring him not to notice his sharp jawline and shocking blue eyes. He forces himself not to shy away from Arthur’s gaze and is rewarded by the slight colouring of Arthur’s cheeks as he eventually drops his own gaze. It takes everything Merlin has not to let out a triumphant laugh.

Instead, he says, “So, can I see my bedroom?”

Merlin and Arthur have been living together for almost three weeks the first time Thea comes over. Merlin would almost rather he never met her; he likes her. She is pretty and nice and far too good for Arthur and Merlin is going to feel awful about stealing the king away from her. Worst of all, he _recognises_ her. Her name has been shortened and modernised but there is no mistaking her. Thea is a reincarnation from Arthur’s past. One meant to hinder Merlin from achieving his goal. One that Arthur had almost married once before.

Princess Mithian of Nemeth. 

Last time, Arthur had chosen Gwen over Mithian. This time, Merlin needs Arthur to chose him. When faced against someone like Thea, though, Merlin stands no chance. Arthur has been quick into falling back into routine, thinking Merlin an idiot, something closer to a loyal puppy than a person. In contrary, Thea is funny and beautiful and smart and down to earth and, by God, Arthur can go on about her and her perfections for hours. He is smitten. It would be cute if it wasn’t so sickening.

Somehow, Merlin manages to be polite to Thea during her visit, certainly politer than he had been when he’d met her in her previous life. Back then, he hadn’t liked her because she stood between Arthur and Gwen. Merlin wonders what it would be like if he hadn’t been adamantly denying his own feelings. Would he have still been such an advocate for Arthur and Gwen? Gwen had been like a sister to him and all Merlin had ever wanted was her happiness, but if he hadn’t been in such denial he’s not so sure.

“Merlin? Oi! Merlin.” The TV remote sails towards his head, startling Merlin out of his reverie with a painful thunk.

“Ow! Git!” Merlin rubs at his head, glaring at Arthur, his expression souring further as he spots Thea curled against his side like she belongs there.

“We lost you for a moment,” Arthur says, as if that explains the abuse. “Thea wanted to know what takeaway you fancied.”

“Oh!” At the thought of food, Merlin brightens. “Chinese?”

Thea stays the night, so Merlin goes to the Pub after their Chinese, staying out as late as possible before crawling into a dark and – thankfully – quiet house shortly before one AM. His head spins as he climbs into bed. He indulged in a little too much in the liquid courage he needed to see him past the thought of Arthur touching her, kissing _her_.

When he wakes, his head throbs. Thea is already in the kitchen when he stumbles in blearily. She smiles and hands him a coffee and some paracetamol. Merlin can magic away his hangover, of course, but right now he kind of wants to suffer. Especially when Thea speaks.

“You don’t like me,” she says, still smiling. It isn’t an accusation, just a fact. Maybe he wasn’t as polite as he thought.

“I…” Merlin doesn’t know what to say. It isn’t true, but it isn’t _untrue_ either. How is he meant to explain that he thinks she is lovely but that they can’t be friends because he wants to steal away her boyfriend?

“You’ve formed quite a fast friendship with Arthur,” Thea says when Merlin doesn’t continue. “If I didn’t know better I would assume you guys went way back.” Was there a question in her tone? An accusation? Did she suspect something? This whole reincarnation thing was messy. For all Merlin knows, Thea has memories of her past life or, at the very least, a sense of it.

“Don’t be daft,” he says, sounding so suspiciously nervous that Thea laughs.

“Arthur has a terrible memory,” she says. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed to remind him if you’d guys went to school together.”

School. She thinks they were old school friends? Merlin nearly cries in relief. Latching onto Thea’s suspicions, Merlin nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “We went to first school together, I think? Inseparable, we were! The very best of friends.”

“Well, there you go then. You were both so young, its no wonder Arthur has forgotten. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to stand in the way of your friendship. There’s no need to be threatened of me. In fact,” she lets a smile spread across her pretty face. “I want to help you!”

Oh god, no. Merlin almost backs away like a frightened animal. Why is she being so kind? He can’t accept her help, only to screw her over down the line. It’s bad enough that he’s already starting to doubt whether it is right for him to even _try_ and win over Arthur. Thea is a nice girl, she doesn’t deserve to be sabotaged. Maybe Merlin just has to be content with what he has? He could be Arthur’s best friend. After pining alone for thousands of years, it is better than nothing, right? He is probably way too old for Arthur anyway, not that it was his fault that he didn’t die! He hadn’t asked to live these past long and lonely years, alone and waiting…

“Anyway, you look like you might puke and I _can’t_ deal with that so I’m going back to bed. We’re cool, though, right?” Thea’s casual words draw Merlin once more back to reality. All he can manage is a stiff nod. Is he too old for Arthur? Technically, of course, he is, but that thought has never factored in before. Maybe he really is best just to be a supportive friend, helping Arthur out through whatever great trial had reawakened him. Maybe anything more is selfish, a fools hope?

“Why don’t you like Thea?” The next time Merlin is startled into alertness the question is asked by Arthur. Merlin stares around the room, becoming aware that he is sitting on the sofa and several hours have passed. He is cradling a mug of tea but he can tell from its stagnant surface that it has long lost its heat.

“Huh? I do like her,” he answers a little defensively.

“Ah, so is it that you fancy her? Come off it, Merlin. A girl like that – even if she _wasn’t_ my girlfriend – is way out of your league.”

“I don’t fancy her!”

“Alright, no need to sound _so_ disgusted.” Arthur looks a little put-out and Merlin looks down guiltily, realising his adamant denial comes across more insulting than reassuring.

“She’s a lovely girl – _woman_!” Merlin says quickly. “She’s just… You don’t need to worry, she’s not my type.”

“And what exactly is your type?” Arthur throws himself down on the sofa next to Merlin. Somehow he has a packet of biscuits and Merlin eyes them hopefully until Arthur sighs and offers him one. “Always thinking of your damn stomach,” he grumbles.

Merlin crunches on the biscuit in silence, hoping that Arthur will drop the subject. These days, liking men isn’t an issue but he’s still not sure how Arthur will take it.

“Go on then? Let me guess, you like pale girls with dark hair?” Oddly specific. Merlin thinks of Morgana and Freya, the only two girls to ever capture his attention. After he realised his feelings for Arthur, he never thought of a girl – or, indeed, anyone else – again. Arthur elbows him in the ribs. “Why do you look so sad?” 

“You just described my ex,” Merlin admits, although it isn’t the thought of Freya that saddens him.

“Ah, so you _do_ like the goth girls,” Arthur says triumphantly and offers Merlin another biscuit. “Is that where you went last night? To see your ex?”

Merlin hadn’t even realised Arthur had noticed him go. He shakes his head. “Freya is… I can’t see her anymore.”

For once, Arthur seems to read the room correctly. His smile drops and he hands Merlin another biscuit. They’re chocolate digestives and Merlin debates sneakily using magic to heat his tea. You can’t beat a good chocolate digestive dunked in tea.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says. “I – Did you want –?” It isn’t often that the Great Arthur Pendragon is lost for words and it is strange to consider that _this_ Arthur isn’t used to death. They no longer live in dangerous times, with the death penalty and fights to the very end. To Arthur, the idea of death is a near foreign one, where perhaps only the older generation is at risk. Merlin is glad that Arthur can have that.

Merlin, of course, who has lived many lifetimes, feels like a constant companion to death. He has watched so many lives flicker out around him over the years that he’s learned to see it as a cause for celebration rather than sadness. It is the only way he can keep on moving forward.

“I’m fine. It was a long time ago,” Merlin says, and Arthur nods, not understanding just how long ago.

"So, is there someone?” Arthur nudges him again, apparently determined to get an answer. “You were gone ‘till pretty late. Or early, I guess.”

“You heard me come in?”

Arthur shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says nonchalantly.

“I was at the pub if you must know. Not meeting anyone.”

“You went drinking by yourself? That’s a little sad, isn’t it, Merlin?”

“You were a bit occupied,” Merlin points out and Arthur actually looks a little sheepish.

“You must have other friends?”

“‘Course I do,” Merlin says but all his friends are long since dead and buried. He wonders whether some of them – maybe even all – are walking around, living new lives like Arthur and Mithian. He hopes they are and he hopes they’re happy.

“Right. Well, I hope I get to meet these so-called friends one day. Anyway, you keep avoiding the question! Is there a mystery girl in your life? Will I get to meet her?” There’s something overly eager about Arthur’s tone but Merlin chooses not to read into it. He doesn’t want to misinterpret and get his hopes up.

“There’s no girl,” he says in a way he hopes Arthur will understand. From the way Arthur’s blue eyes widen, he does.

“But there is someone! _Oh-ho_! There’s a block, is there? So what’s _he_ like then?” If Arthur is surprised or bothered by this revelation, he hides it well. Merlin is a little amazed by how easily Arthur accepts it. He can’t help but smile, the relief swirling around inside him.

“He’s… pig-headed and rude. A royal prat, if I’m honest,” Merlin says cheerfully, enjoying the confusion across Arthur’s face.

“And you like that?”

Merlin shrugs. “I like him.”

“Well, he’s a lucky bloke, whoever he is,” Arthur says.

“Oh, he is, is he?” The words are out before Merlin realises how dangerously close to flirting they are.

“No, not really,” Arthur says lightly and Merlin is not sure whether he notices and chooses to ignore the flirting or is really just that oblivious. “I feel bad for anyone who gets lumped with you. I’ve never met anyone so useless. Do you know, I counted the times I saw you trip over in a single day the other day. Do you want to know how many times it was?”

“Not really, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“Twelve,” Arthur says smugly. “You’re entirely useless, Merlin.”

“Bet I could beat you in a duel.”

Arthur snorted. “A duel? What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?” Sometimes Merlin forgets himself. He has been a bystander since Arthur’s death, rarely getting too involved with the world around him. He’s helped people as he’s passed by and found them in need, but these days there is little help needed from someone like him. So, he just watches and walks and waits.

“Well, there you go then,” he says quickly. “I win by default because you’re not even brave enough.”

“Not brave enough, am I?” Arthur reaches over and grabs Merlin in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles across his crown as Merlin squirms and laughs and tries to escape. “I’d have you flat on your arse in seconds.” His words are almost suggestive and Merlin stills in his arms, feeling his cheeks colour. Fortunately, Arthur can’t see, though he does feel Merlin tense and quickly releases him.

“Right, then. Well, now that’s sorted, fancy making me a cuppa?” Arthur says and Merlin jumps quickly to his feet, glad for the excuse to escape.

***

A month passed, and then two, and Merlin and Arthur fall into a routine. Although Arthur can’t explain it, Merlin being in his life feels right, _natural_ , like he’s always been there and always will. Thea tells him it was because they used to be best friends but Arthur laughs and rolls his eyes at that.

“I think I would remember if I’d gone to school with Merlin. It’s not easy to forget someone so useless!” Despite his words, he does have a sense that they’ve known each other before. He doesn't dwell on it much, but sometimes he is struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu strong enough to make him stagger.

There is something about Merlin. Something more than the clumsy, useless way he bumbles about the house, never seeming to leave for work despite claiming ‘Of course I have a job you clotpole!’. He has never missed his rent so Arthur doesn’t press too much, curious as he is. Everyone is allowed their secrets, he guesses. _Even_ Merlin, though it irritates him something wicked.

When he brings up what Thea had said, Merlin shrugs and claims he must have been mistaken. ‘It must have been another Arthur who was an insufferable cabbage head.’

Merlin has the most creative insults for him. And he is funny, and witty. And despite what Arthur claims to anyone who asks, Merlin is smart, incredibly so. Arthur doesn’t miss any of it, though he enjoys pretending he doesn’t see.

They become fast friends. The closest of them. Arthur forgets what life without Merlin was like. He starts bringing Merlin with him wherever he goes, sometimes having to stop and catch himself before he brings Merlin on dates with Thea. Staying around his girlfriends becomes weird. As much as he wants to, he can’t bring Merlin and Arthur finds that he misses him when they’re apart. He doesn’t understand it so he doesn’t really question it.

The most shocking thing about Merlin is how quickly he became friends with Arthur’s friends. He met them at the beginning of his second month in the house and Arthur had expected it to go terribly. He seemed to be right when Merlin looked at them all like they were ghosts or had two heads or something, but then, almost instantly, he fell into an easy routine with them.

Even more surprisingly, they like Merlin too. They ask if he’ll be joining when they plan nights out and Arthur rolls his eyes; _of course_ , Merlin is coming.

Arthur doesn’t realise it’s weird how close they’ve become. He might never have realised, if not for Gwaine.

Five months after Merlin bumbled into his life, they’re all at the pub. Thea is tucked under Arthur’s arm but Arthur barely notices, he’s too concerned with why Merlin seems to be avoiding him. Instead of spending the evening talking to Arthur as usual, Merlin is sitting the other side of the table, engaged in conversation with Lance and his fiancé, Gwen. He has barely acknowledged Arthur since Thea turned up.

Merlin is bi, Arthur thinks, remembering mention of the ex Freya. It has been a while since Merlin has mentioned this bloke he fancied and he’s always weird around Thea. Arthur thinks he might like her and he’s not quite sure what to do with that information. Merlin is his best mate and he can’t imagine life without him, but he’s not just going to hand his girlfriend over to him. Despite that, he hates seeing Merlin like this, so withdrawn, so unlike the dorky, clumsy man he is used to.

“What’s the matter, mate?” Gwaine asks while the pair of them are at the bar. It is a busy night, and they’ve been waiting for several minutes with no sign of the rushed-of-their-feet workers reaching them soon. “You’ve had a face like a smacked arse all night.”

“Have not,” Arthur protests. “Jesus, are they gonna keep us waiting all night?”

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Gwaine scolds. “I’d ask if you fought with Thea but she’s been sucking your neck all night. Little off-putting, really.”

“She has _not_ been sucking my neck all night,” Arthur says hotly but, to be honest, he doesn’t have a clue what she’s been up too. He’s been too busy thinking. And watching. Gwaine, of course, sees all and knows this.

“I guess she has to do something to try and get your attention,” Gwaine continues casually. “The poor girl isn’t getting a look in these days. Maybe it’s time you broke it off with her, hey? Put her out of her misery.”

That, at least, gets Arthur’s full attention. “Break up with her? Why on earth would I do that?”

“Well, I dunno,” Gwaine says, trying to tame his smirk. “Maybe ‘cus you don’t have eyes for anyone other than Merlin these days.”

Arthur scowls. He likes a good joke just as much as the next bloke but this taking it too far. What exactly is Gwaine insinuating? 

“Everyone’s noticed,” Gwaine continues, because he doesn’t know when to stop. Arthur thinks about punching him but he doesn’t want to get kicked out of the pub. It’s Merlin’s favourite and he doesn’t want to risk being barred. “Even Thea.”

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Gwaine says, then turns his attention back to the bar just as the flustered barmaid reaches them. He gives her a charming smile and doesn’t notice as Arthur skulks off. Let the bastard carry the drinks himself.

Arthur doesn’t only have eyes for Merlin. How ridiculous.

He goes home with Thea that night and ends up staying the weekend. He doesn’t text Merlin to let him know.

***

If he is being honest, Merlin doesn’t know how to flirt, nor show someone that he is fond of them. It has been a long time since he’s wanted to, after all. So, he just… doesn’t. He accepts that Arthur is in a happy relationship with Thea and decides to be content with just being his friend. It is enough, most of the time. 

As time goes on, and Thea starts to notice that Merlin is head over heels for her guy, it gets harder. She never says anything, but she turns up the PDA whenever Merlin is around. It is like she is saying ‘this is my man, keep away’ without having to speak aloud. It is a bit predatory but Merlin can’t say he blames her. He wouldn’t want to watch someone drooling over Arthur every day if they were together.

Besides, Merlin has bigger things to worry about. Arthur has been back in his life for half a year and yet, still nothing major has happened. Merlin has barely had cause to use his magic at all. He doesn’t understand it, he thought Arthur was meant to return when Albion’s need was greatest which would surely mean there was trouble to come.

So, where was it?

As nice as it is to have all his friends back (well, most of them. He still hadn’t found Gaius.) Merlin can’t relax. He is worried about keeping Arthur safe from dangers that don’t seem to be occurring. It is frustrating.

Even more frustrating is that, for the past few weeks, Arthur has been behaving strangely. Distant. Merlin hates it. They have gone from being the closest they have ever been, to tiptoeing around each other.

Merlin doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He wonders whether he missed some kind of magical attack, something that has altered Arthur’s personality.

He fears that Arthur has realised he is hopeless in love with him and is disgusted by it.

Out with Gwen one evening for cocktails, Merlin ends up drinking far too much. It’s not a good one, but alcohol is a reprieve none the less. Gwen, too, is well and truly sloshed.

“You’re not discreet, you know,” she says, her words about ten per cent slower than they would have been sober. And, perhaps, twenty per cent louder.

“What d’you mean?”

“Arthur. We’ve all noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

Merlin spills his drink.

“I – you – I don’t! What?”

Gwen bursts out laughing. “Well thank you for confirming my suspicions.”

“Was that a trick?” Merlin asks, his face beetroot. “You can’t… I’m drunk!”

“So am I,” Gwen says cheerfully. “Now, come on! Let’s get drunker and you can rant all about him.”

Merlin, who can see no downside to her suggestion, cheers and clinks their glasses together.

Two hours later, Merlin is cooling his face on the sticky tabletop when an intrusive finger pokes him in the cheek. “You really are entirely useless, aren’t you Merlin?”

Merlin groans, swiping away the finger. “Wha’choo doin’ here?”

“Gwen text me.”

Merlin sits up, scanning the bar. “Where is Gwen?” He realises he’s not sure when he last saw her. He thinks he might remember her saying she needs to leave, and him insisting he’d walk her but nothing seemed to have come from that seeing as he is still at their table and she is, clearly, not.

“Don’t worry, she’s on the bus home and Lance is meeting her at her stop. You should be more concerned about yourself. How much did you drink anyway?” That question seems preposterous to Merlin: he drank exactly how much he needed. Instead of answering he gives a small giggle and Arthur rolls his eyes. “Come on then, let’s get you home.”

An arm finds its way around him, hoisting him to his feet and Merlin is struck with equal parts indignants – he can walk just fine on his own, thank you very much! He’s a great and powerful wizard! – and delight. He’s not sure which side to listen to, the one that wants to pull away or the one that wants to sniff Arthur’s golden hair and sink against him and never let go.

Somehow – and Merlin’s not sure he didn’t inadvertently use magic – they make it back to the house. Arthur sits Merlin down on a barstool and fetches him a glass of water that Merlin wrinkles his nose at and debates turning into vodka.

“Drink it,” Arthur scolds and Merlin has just enough sense about himself not to tell Arthur he’s sexy when he gives orders. He takes a sip of water. “More.” Merlin scowls but does so. Arthur sits down, opposite him. “What’s been up with you recently?”

“What’s been up with _me?_ ” Merlin counters, accidentally spilling his water as he waves it while gesticulating. “You’re the one who’s been distant. You’ve been avoiding me and I have no idea what I’ve done wrong! You’re still just as much of a prat as ever, y’know? Though I guess you’ve found new ways of torture this time. I think I preferred the ‘Merlin, do this, do that. Polish my armour, Merlin, sharpen my sword!’.” Merlin cuts off abruptly. The room is spinning and it's making him dizzy. He drops his head into his lap, folding over and taking a deep breath. After a moment's hesitation, a hand gently rests on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, sound a little startled. “I mean, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about but I assume it makes sense to you.”

“See, that’s the thing about you!” Merlin erupts, lifting his head once more. He ignores the wave of dizziness that it brings. “You never appreciate anything I do. You think I’m just some idiot but you’ll never know the number of times I saved your arse. And then you died and I just had to wait around for thousands of years and _bam_! You’re back and just as pigheaded as ever. And it turns out everyone is back, which is great, except I still don’t know where Gaius is! And of course, nobody remembers me, which I _knew_ would be the case but it still sucks!” Words just tumble out of Merlin’s mouth without his permission. There is no wonder Arthur looks so confused, but Merlin can’t seem to stop the word vomit.

Arthur seems to digest Merlin’s rant for a moment. “What do you want with Gaius?” he asks finally.

Merlin’s head shoots up so quickly he’s surprised it doesn’t fly off his neck. “You know Gaius?”

“I know _a_ Gaius,” Arthur says. “But it’s not a very common name, is it?”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Merlin,” Arthur sounds exasperated. “In his home I presume. He’s friends with my father.”

“Take me there!” Merlin demands, standing up. It is a mistake and he feels the room spin, churning his stomach until he feels like he might actually vomit. He sits down promptly but misses the chair by about an inch and falls heavily to the floor. Arthur barks a laugh and stands, extending a hand.

“The only place you’re going right now is bed.”

Merlin opens his mouth to argue but another wave of nausea has him closing it pronto. Instead, he nods and allows Arthur to usher him to his bed. The blond vanished momentarily, returning with a saucepan and a glass of water, that he insists Merlin downs there and then. He stands with his hands on his hips, glaring until the glass is empty.

“Feeling better?” Arthur asks, and Merlin swears there is a softness to his tone.

“Ngh,” Merlin grunts in response and Arthur laughs, leaning over to ruffle his hair. His fingers remain threaded between Merlin’s dark locks for a fraction longer than necessary and when he pulls back he looks almost reluctant.

“Sleep it off. You’ll have one hell of a hangover but it could be worse.”

“How could it be worse?” Merlin asks glumly although he figures he could have thrown himself at Arthur and been rejected. That would have been worse.

Arthur frowns, thinking. He looks especially cute. “You could have thrown up on me,” he says finally.

Merlin gives a weak snort. “You’d deserve it.”

“Would I now?”

Merlin considers and then shakes his head against his pillow. His eyes are already drooping. “Nah. You’re alrigh’ I guess.”

“Well, thanks,” Arthur says but Merlin barely hears. He falls asleep with a smile on his face and is completely oblivious to the fact that Arthur stays in his room, watching over him, for the next hour before his own exhaustion finally sees him off to bed.

“Are you making fish fingers? For _breakfast_?” Merlin turns with a bright smile as Arthur steps into the kitchen, blearily wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Yup. Love a good fish finger sarnie after a night drinking.”

“You’re entirely too chipper. Why don’t you have a hangover?” The accusation in Arthur’s voice nearly makes Merlin laugh. A part of him longs to say ‘it’s because I’m magic’ but there’d be no point. This Arthur doesn’t believe in real magic and Merlin’s pretty sure he ranted about it enough the night before to have Arthur questioning his sanity without adding salt to the wound.

“Lucky I guess?” he says brightly.

“Ugh. Make me a sandwich would you?”

“You were just judging me for it,” Merlin says, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, well. I’m allowed to change my mind.”

“Fine,” Merlin says, trying to come across as reluctant but failing spectacularly. “Ketchup or tartar sauce?”

“Ketchup, you heathen.” Arthur sits at the breakfast bar. They stay in comfortable silence as Merlin makes their breakfast. Once Merlin has joined him at the breakfast bar and is munching on his second sarnie, Arthur breaks it.

“So, you ranted a lot last night…”

“Oh, really?” Merlin asks nervously, panicking as he wracks his mind for anything he might have forgotten. He remembers ranting around their past together, which is annoying but can be passed off as drunken nonsense. He doesn’t think he did anything worse than that but he can’t say it with one hundred per cent certainty.

“You seemed to think we were back in the medieval times or something,” Arthur says. “I really don’t know what goes on in that brain of yours.” Merlin lets out a small sigh of relief. “And you seemed very eager to meet Gaius.”

Merlin perks at that. He vaguely remembers talk of Gaius. “You know him?”

“I know _a_ Gaius. How’d you know him?”

“Old family friend,” Merlin says quickly, thinking fast. “We lost touch and I would love to see him again.”Arthur looks sceptical but eventually, he nods. “He should have retired years ago but the old man refuses to stop seeing patients. If you go to his surgery you’ll probably find him there most days.”

They resume eating after that in silence. Once done, Merlin stands, ready to leave for the doctor's surgery Arthur mentioned. Arthur looks up and Merlin can see he wants to say something but, after hesitating for a few seconds Arthur just tells him to say hello to Gaius. “I hope he’s the right man.” So does Merlin, although seeing as nobody else remembers him, he’s not sure why he’s even bothering to torture himself.

At the Doctors, the stressed-out receptionist tells Merlin he can’t just ‘pop in for a visit’. “The doctor is busy. You’ll have to make an appointment,” she tells him. Merlin, who has spotted a picture of Gaius on the wall along with six other practitioners is so frustrated he ends up using magic to make her turn a blind eye. He realises as he’s knocking on Gaius’ door that perhaps she was telling the truth when she said he was busy and feels momentarily guilty.

“Come in.” The voice is so familiar even though Merlin hadn’t heard it in thousands of years. It’s enough to make him hesitate. Gaius was like a father to him and, other than Arthur, it’s the reunion he’s craved the most. “Hello?”

Taking a deep breath, Merlin opens the door. For a moment Gaius stares at him, bemused, and Merlin braces himself for the ‘who are you?’

It doesn’t come.

“Merlin? My dear boy, is that you?”

Merlin blinks, unsure whether this is real or whether he wishes it was real so much that he’s hallucinating. If that’s the case then at least he’s in the right place for it.

“Gaius?”

“It’s me, Merlin.” That’s enough for Merlin. Even if it is some cruel trick, cocked into existence by the fey or some other magical creature whom he has pissed off in the past, Merlin doesn’t care. He steps forward and hugs Gaius.

“How do you remember? Nobody else does.”

“That’s because they didn’t live it,” Gaius says and Merlin is struck by a warm familiarity at Gaius’ wisdom.

“But neither did you… Right?”

“Heavens no,” Gaius chuckles. “I’m afraid only you were trapped on that slow path, and for that, I am so sorry, Merlin. It must have been lonely.”

Merlin nods, knowing he can never express just how much so. “Then how do you know me?” he asks again.

“I’m an old man,” Gaius explains. “It seems, at least in my experience, that the older you get, the more you’re willing to accept. I was always struck with an odd feeling around Uther and Arthur but I brushed it off for years. It was only as I grew older that I started to wonder on it and, as I did, over time I started to have a sense of a life once lived. I have spent the past few years trying to recall my life in Camelot and while a lot of it is blurred the one thing that is always crystal clear is you, my dear boy.”

Merlin feels his eyes tear up without his permission. “I can’t believe it took me this long to find you. To find all of you! You’ve all been here living your lives, all knowing one another and I was just… alone.” He deflates, but Gaius clasps his hand, squeezing it.

“You found us just when you needed to.”

“But I still don’t understand. Arthur was prophesied to return when Albion needed him most but nothing is happening. I’ve been watching and waiting, but there’s been nothing. I don’t know what I’m missing.”

Gaius gives him a supportive smile. “You’re missing a great deal, it seems,” he says. At Merlin’s confused look, he continues. “Albion doesn’t exist any more, save for one place.”

“Where?”

Gaius reaches out, touching Merlin’s chest, where his heart is. “There. Albion lives on in you. Arthur returned because _you_ need him, Merlin.”

Merlin thinks he might need to have a sit-down.

***

Arthur isn’t sure who breaks up with who, only that he went out for coffee with a girlfriend and left without one. It isn’t a bad breakup and while Thea doesn’t seem keen on jumping straight to being friends, she doesn’t seem to resent him either. Merlin’s name was tossed around a lot and Arthur thinks he understands why, though it’s a lot to consider.

He doesn’t go home straight away. He’s not sure he can face Merlin if he’s there and, let's be real, Merlin is usually there. Arthur distinctly remembers him claiming he had a job and friends but he’s not so sure. Merlin seems to spend eighty per cent of his time at their house and the other twenty at the pub. He doesn’t strike Arthur as the kind of person who goes to the pub but everything about Merlin is surprising. From the first minute they met, Arthur felt as if they had known each other forever and he can’t help but wonder, sometimes, if it's somehow true. He was drunk, sure, but when Merlin was ranting about him being bossy he’d seemed so sure, so convincing, that Arthur had kind of believed him. Somehow, even though he has no memories of it, bossing Merlin around in another life resonates with him in a way that makes it hard to doubt.

It can’t be true, but Arthur doesn’t understand how it can feel so true if it isn’t. It’s a weird feeling and Arthur’s not sure what to make of it.

He’s also not sure what to make about his breakup with Thea. He’d loved her, he is certain of that. At one point, he’d thought he might marry her. Despite this, he’s not sad or, at least, not in the way he would usually be after a breakup. He was sadder when he broke up with Gwen, and they had dated all of two months until he’d realised her heart belonged to Lance and he was just standing in the way. Instead, he feels oddly relieved, like he’d been forcing himself to do something he hadn’t wanted to do and the pressure has finally been lifted.

He’s never really thought about being attracted to men before. He’s not sure he can sincerely say he never has been, though. He definitely didn’t mind when Gwaine went through a phase of being shirtless. And, now that he thinks about it, there had been a boy in high school that he was a little too close to. His father hadn’t liked the boy and had called him a bad influence. Arthur hadn’t understood why at the time but now he wonders whether Uther saw what he couldn’t.

He wonders whether everyone has seen what he couldn’t. Thea definitely did. He recalls their conversation at the café. She admitted that at first, she thought it was just an innocent bond like they were soul-brothers or something equally ridiculous. But as the months passed she realised it was more. To start with she thought it was one-sided, just on Merlin’s part. She could have dealt with that.

She said it was when they all went drinking together in the pub a few weeks back that she finally realised. Arthur hadn’t taken his eyes off Merlin all evening. Arthur didn’t bother to try and deny it. He remembers that night, remembers how Merlin was avoiding him and how much that frustrated him.

Oh god, he really is in love with Merlin, isn’t he?

Bollocks.

***

Arthur is behaving weirdly but it suits Merlin just fine because, even still, he is digesting what Gaius said to him. He had known Albion was a thing of the past but it had never really occurred to him that _he_ was what was left.

Arthur returned for him? Surely that changes everything? Should he still feel guilty about trying to get between Arthur and Thea? _Had_ he even been doing that? Merlin thinks back over the last few months. They’ve been close, closer than is likely normal for two young men, but he doesn’t think he’s done anything particularly meddlesome or sneaky. He’s tried his best to back off and give them space whenever Thea is about because, despite everything, Merlin does like her. She deserves better than Merlin trying to screw her over.

That still stands, of course.

It sucks, but Gaius’ revelation shouldn’t change anything. Arthur is happy with Thea and Merlin should be happy for him. He _is_ happy for him.

“I broke up with Thea,” Arthur announces, walking into Merlin’s room without knocking. He does that a lot.

Merlin has been pacing and stops abruptly, frozen to the spot.

He swallows audibly. “Oh crap,” he croaks out. “When?”

“Last week.”

“Last week?! And you’re only telling me this now?”

“I didn’t have to tell you at all,” Arthur says indignantly.

“Well, I mean, you kinda do,” Merlin blurts, though he’s not sure what his logic behind that is.

“Oh really? And how’d you work that out?” Arthur cocks an eyebrow and by god, Merlin wants to kiss him. Arthur really shouldn’t have told him about the breakup, Merlin had been doing so well restraining himself and now… Now thousands of years of pent up feelings threatened to explode out of him in tumbling rush.

Merlin doesn’t know whether to be brave and reckless and take a risk on the fact that he’s fairly sure Arthur does fancy him at least a little, or be sensible for once in his life. He has magic, he could always wipe Arthur’s memory if it doesn’t go well…

In his panicked state, he takes a step forward and then falters when Arthur tenses, his eyes wide as they watch Merlin move.

“Only joking,” Merlin says quickly. “You don’t owe me anything. I hope you’re okay and all, but I really need to pop out.” He tries to brush part Arthur but the stubborn king won’t get out of the way.

“What’s going on with you?” Arthur asks, his voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

“What? Nothing.” Oh, this is hell. This is worse than hell. Merlin doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. The fear of rejection is too strong. After all, they spent years together in Arthur’s past life, Merlin slowly falling in love even though he didn’t realise it until it was too late, and yet Arthur had never shown any indication he loved Merlin back.

“Merlin,” Arthur’s exasperated and it comes across clearly in his tone. “You’re upset. You’re not being your usual chatty, opinionated self.”

“You’ve just had a breakup, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Maybe I want to know your opinion,” Arthur says. “Do you think I did the right thing?” He’s not ready to admit that he maybe didn’t do the breaking up. Because the decision was so right he’s still not even one hundred per cent sure that he didn’t.

Merlin sighs, eyeing the door hopefully but knowing he can’t escape now.

“If it was right for the both of you, then yeah,” Merlin says. Arthur has sat down on his bed but Merlin still hovers in a pose that radiates the fact that he’s ready to bolt as soon as he gets the chance. “There is no happiness in denying yourself what you want.”

His words seem to strike at something within Arthur, who suddenly looks thoughtful. More than ever, Merlin wants to bolt. His heart is racing, his palms sweating and he feels like something is happening but he’s just not sure what.

He’s scared, he realises. Scared that Arthur likes him back and scared that he doesn’t. Either way means uncharted territory. Arthur is his king, the once and future king of Camelot and Merlin is just a servant. This was the same for Arthur and Gwen, of course, but Gwen was meant to lead. She was a queen long before she was actually queen, her heart pure and just and regal to the core.

But Arthur isn’t a king anymore. He’s just a normal guy and Merlin is his equal. He’s not being asked to sit on a throne next to Arthur and rule a kingdom. He just needs to be there for Arthur as he always has been and always will.

Merlin licks his lips, still hesitating. The way he sees it, he has three options. He can hightail it out of there, he can continue to hover and see where Arthur takes this, or he can be brave.

In his previous life, Arthur had thought him a coward for a very long time. Merlin had to live with that because to tell Arthur the truth would be to risk execution. He didn’t mind that he’d lived in the shadows but he’d hated that Arthur thought him weak.

Merlin wants to prove he’s not.

He moves slowly, like he’s approaching a frightened animal even though Arthur doesn’t seem to share his fear. At the last minute, his courage leaves him. To make it not look weird, he sits down on the bed next to Arthur, as if that’s what he had been planning all along.

Give him evil magical creatures any day over trying to kiss the love of his life. Maybe, when faced with something that truly matters, he is a coward after all?

Arthur barks a laugh. “You really overthink things, don’t you Merlin?”

For a moment Merlin wonders whether Arthur can read his mind before he realises he’s probably an open book right now, all his emotions plastered across his face.

As Merlin attempts and fails to offer Arthur a small smile, Arthur’s expression turns sombre. Merlin’s heart sinks to his feet and he knows what’s coming. Arthur’s going to say he’s flattered but he’s not gay.

“This bloke you fancied a while back… Was he me?”

Merlin swallows loudly, unsure of whether to answer truthfully or not. He doesn’t like to lie to Arthur, though, so he nods.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise at the time,” Arthur says, quietly enough that Merlin’s thinks he’s talking to himself. “I’ve been so blind, haven’t I?” He speaks louder this time.

“You’ve always been a bit blind to the truth,” Merlin says before he can stop himself. Arthur turns to look at him, catching Merlin’s eyes in a penetrating stare.

“We knew each other before, didn’t we? I don’t exactly understand it but I _feel_ it. I know you, Merlin. I know you better than I know myself.”

Well, as he’s already being truthful… “It’s complicated,” Merlin admits. “And probably very unbelievable.”

“Try me,” Arthur challenges, so Merlin does. It bursts out of him like he was a clogged tap that has finally dislodged its blockage and can run freely again. He tells Arthur about Camelot and magic and Gwen and Lancelot and Giaus and his father. He tells Arthur about Morgana and how many times he saved him and the one time he failed to do so. By the time he gets to that point, he’s crying freely.

Merlin isn’t sure when Arthur took his hand, but their fingers are threaded together, their hold tight like if one were to let go they would lose the other forever.

In Arthur’s eyes, there is confusion but there is also belief. Merlin’s words resonate with him on some level. He doesn’t understand how it could be true, but he believes that it is.

“You hid your magic from me for ten years?” Arthur asks, in awe.

“You would have killed me.”

“I wouldn’t have!” he says indignantly. Then, “Can you really do magic? _Real_ magic?”

Merlin doesn’t hesitate before conjuring a ball of light in his hands. Arthur gawps and scans the room for any wires or hidden devices that could reveal it to be a trick. He finds none, of course.

“Do you remember knocking into an old man about seven months ago?” Merlin asks.

“Uh,” Arthur racks his memory. He nods, vaguely recalling the memory. Something about that old man had struck him as familiar but he’d been in a rush, unable to dwell.

“That was me.”

“It was never! Just how old are you, Merlin?”

“Too old,” Merlin says. “I’ve lived through so much while you and the others got to take the shorter path. It’s been a lonely life.”

Arthur takes a moment to digest this. “And you were waiting for me?”

“Always.”

“That’s…” Arthur trails off, words failing him. Merlin notices how Arthur’s eyes sparkle with tears and he squeezes his hand, glad when Arthur doesn’t pull away. “This is a lot,” Arthur admits.

“I know,” Merlin says. “And I understand if it’s too much. If you want me to leave –”

Before Merlin even finishes saying the word ‘leave’, Arthur is blurting out “No!”. At Merlin’s stunned look, Arthur softens his tone. “I don’t want you to go. It’s a lot to take in, but I want you here to help me understand it.”

Merlin smiles and nods. “I can do that,” he says.

They sit in silence for a while, their hands never parting. Merlin wonders what exactly this all means but decides he doesn’t really care. Arthur wants him with him, who cares in what way it might be?

“Was I really married to Gwen?”

Merlin gives a little laugh. In this life, it's so hard to imagine. Gwen is like a little sister to Arthur. “Yes. You were a great couple, too. I was your advocate through and through.”

“I dated her briefly, did you know that?” Merlin didn’t. Neither Gwen nor Arthur had mentioned that before. “She chose Lance over me. I guess we weren’t destined to be together after all.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No,” Arthur says, and squeezes Merlin’s fingers again. “I think destiny had other plans.”

“I guess it did,” Merlin says, and he can’t contain the huge smile across his face.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long.”

“It’s okay. I would have waited forever,” Merlin admits.

Arthur laughs, though it's tinged with sadness. “That’s so bloody cheesy.”

Merlin shrugs. “It’s true.”

“Thank you, Merlin. For everything.”

“It’s what you do for the people you love,” Merlin says, and the freezes. He can’t believe he just said that. To his credit, Arthur doesn’t flinch away. He’s silent for a long moment, deep in thought.

Finally, he speaks. “I might not remember back then but I have a sense. Maybe I chose Gwen but I loved you. Maybe I didn’t realise it, or maybe I was afraid of it but either way, I know it was true.”

Merlin sucks in a breath. His heart is hammering in his chest. He feels a little faint. “And now?” He croaks out.

Arthur looks him in the eye, holding his gaze. “Of course I love you, you moron.”

“Oh. Okay then,” Merlin says defeatedly, before Arthur’s words fully skin in. Arthur waits, smiling as Merlin’s eyes widen with realisation. “Wait, what?!”

Arthur leans in and kisses him then and it makes it all worth it. All the waiting, all the heartbreak, everything Merlin sacrificed along the way.

Arthur’s lips are warm and taste of honey. They’re a little chapped but soften under Merlin’s. Merlin isn’t sure how he’s lived so many lifetimes without them. He spent so long putting everybody else’s needs before his own that it’s almost overpowering to finally get his reward. He could die right there and then a happy man, though he hopes he doesn’t. He hopes he has many years left in him yet. Years that he can spend by Arthur’s side, finally being accepted for who he is. 

The once and future king has returned, though he is king no more to anyone but Merlin. As it turns out, that suits them both just fine. 


End file.
